


Never in a Million Years

by vee_djarin



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27889216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vee_djarin/pseuds/vee_djarin
Summary: Reader is Tequila's younger sister, a genius and prodigy. While training to become the next Agent Brandy, a rivalry starts between Reader and Whiskey when she solves his case. Reader becomes more convinced Whiskey has something against her and is determined to figure it out.
Relationships: Jack | Whiskey (Kingsman)/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	1. Smart Ass

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Mention of suicide and mental health crisis. Jack is being a dick a little. But thats how it starts out.

Its late november. The trees are bare. The air is crisp. It smells faintly of apples outside. The animals are chattering. It is a comfortable 50 degrees farenheit with the sun shining in a cloudless sky. The temperature drops as I step under the shadow of the main Stateman building. 

A women with tawny brown skin amd short brown hair calls my name, "You're the last one, so as soon as you head down, follow all instructions Agent Rum gives. I've been very eager for you to arrive. You are one of brightest we've had here at Stateman for years." She smiles. 

"Im only doing this because my brother works here. This better not be a waste of time." 

She leads me to an elavator and presses an unmarked button. 

The downside to being a genius is most programs aren't up to my level. Or my liking that much either. They're all.. boring. I dont want to sit around all my life. According to my brother,"its a shame to see all that brain go to waste." 

I almost hate being known for my intelligence all the time. Like people dont even see me. Im not just a genius, but a prodigy. Everything I did, I was phenomenal at. Violin, flute, wrestling, taekwondo, jujitsu, gymnastics, knitting, golf. Anything you can think of, I can do it. I've spent all my life doing everything, I never settled to find anything I liked. 

"This job will be perfect for you. It'll be a few weeks of training then its all yours." I remember my brother's words as the elavator takes me to some underground level. 

The doors open and I exit into a room with 7 other people. Half look like they went to Ivy League schools. The perfect hair, polite smiles, and privilege oozing out their pores. The other half look military. Their posture screams "try me, I dare you."

"You made it just in time. Now just because you're Tequila's little sister don't mean you get any sort of special treatment. But your record shows you won't need any" a man, who I am assuming to be Rum, says. Rum is tall, with broad shoulders and has pale skin I can tell sunburns after 5 minutes. 

He is singling me out. Laying me out as competition for the others. I can feel their glares. Now everyone is onto me and I'll have to work twice as hard. Great. 

"Now I want everyone to introduce themselves because y'all are competing to be the next Stateman's own Agent Brandy."

.

.

.

Its my third day of training and one person has already quit training and another was kicked out. Our first lesson was good instincts. Part one of being a Stateman agent requires intuition. The moment you take to second guess yourself is the difference between life or death. Victory and defeat. We had to navigate a maze with numerous obstacles at every turn. If we didnt react quick enough, made a wrong turn, or make it out in time, we were immobilized for an hour. Not nearly as severe as death but they got the message across.

Our second lesson was confidence and charm. As Rum explained, nearly 60 percent of all missions require social skills and to Stateman that means always being a proper gentleman or lady. We were each assigned a target at a club and tasked to charm their pants off. Only half of us were successful. I got lucky that night.

Today's lesson, observational skills. Not always will you be able to have a tech agent in your ear, giving you a rundown of everything happening. You need to be able to make accurate deductions and pay attention to the smallest details. 

"We are going to train you a bit different today. The task you will be given is an open case. It was ruled as a suicide by the police however, when someone this high status goes missing for multiple days, then shows up hanged the next state over, its hard to believe there isnt someone else behind it. Unfortunately, our agents haven't been able to crack it yet so we will see if you can get us any further in the case" Rum explains. My brother and another agent step into the room. The agent looks youngish, stuck between entering middle aged and early 30s. He has tanned skin, a mustache that fits his face perfectly and soft, intelligent brown eyes. At first glance he falls on the side of good looking, but not gorgeous like my brother beside him. 

"I'm Agent Whiskey and this is my partner Agent Tequila. We've been working on this case for a week now with slow progress. Hopefully, your minds may be able to see something we can't," Whiskey says in a smooth southern drawl. 

"Tell me, what do you all know about Senator Annmarie Stark?" my brother asks. 

"Senator of Colorado, Democrat, started off her first term strong however lost reelection because she voted on bills that went against what her supporters voted for. She just switched parties," a man to my left answers.

"Thats what it seems like. She lied about her beliefs, got elected, then voted for bills that hurt the people, right?" Whiskey questions. 

"And you suppose someone kidnapped and assassinated her for it?" Another trainee asks. 

"Not quite. We think someone picked her up in another town. We just dont know which one. Her house shows no signs of break in and it was days before she was reported missing. She hasnt seen since she left her house April 17th at 7:27 am. We have surveillance videos of her leaving town. She called 911 at 7:52," Tequila reports. 

The recording of the 911 call plays for all of us to hear:

-"911, what's your emergency?" 

-"this is senator stark. I think something bad is going to happen." 

-"ma'am, can you tell be whats wrong? Whats going to happen?" 

-"i dont know. I just have a feeling. Somethings wrong." 

-"ok ma'am, do you think youre going to be in physical danger?"

-"im sorry." 

Her tone has completely changed as she speaks the last line and hangs up. 

"Any cameras see where she went?" I ask. 

A video of a black Lincoln driving the streets of Boulder before driving out of town and out of sight is projected onto the wall. "That is all the footage we have." 

"That was odd." I think out loud. Tequila's face lights up. He loves watching me figure things out.

"You onto something?" He asks.

"She looked like she was driving somewhere but then got confused. She starts driving in circles before leaving town. What time did she start driving in circles?" 

"Timestamp for the surveillance video is 7:45 to 7:55 and she comes in after 9 minutes so 7:54 is when she started driving in circles." 

"Two minutes after she called..." I mumbled. 

"What are you onto?" My brother questions me. 

"Mental health run in the family?" 

Tequila types into the tablet," Grandmother with schizophrenia and uncle with Bipolar Disorder."

"Where the hell are you going with this? You're far off track," Whiskey sighs. He doesnt get it. 

"But what if she really did kill herself?" I question. 

"That's already out of the question. Her family saw her the day before she left and she has no signs of depression. She had no reason to commit suicide," Whiskey argues. 

"You don't get it. Acting different all of a sudden, being paranoid, and driving in circles in her own town? She's schizophrenic." 

"I get it now," Tequila nods his head. 

"She drove around for hours in a panic then in a depressive state, hung herself."

"She has no history of mental health." 

"Just because it aint in public records doesnt mean its not real." 

He crossed his arms and stared at me. 

"We'll go over your little theory and see if it checks out. She how smart you really are." He huffs. 

"Smarter than you, cowboy," I hold his stare. 

"I think our trainee did good." Rum claps me on my back. I break eye contact with Whiskey. Tequila comes over to congratulate me as well. I can feel Whiskey glaring at me. He probably didnt want me to solve it. Maybe just give him the nudge so he could solve it. So he can tell himself he did a good job. Men and their fragile egos.


	2. sore ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is kind of a jerk still. While training reader over hand to hand conbat, he lets his competitiveness get the better of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw // gun mention

Its day 7 of training before I see Whiskey again. Today, we go over combat. Our skills of combat are varied so we get paired accordingly. I think they were unfair with me because I get paired with Whiskey, who is apparently the highest ranking agent here at Stateman. 

"So sugar, how good are you to be paired with me?" He says as we cicle each other on the mat. 

"I don't think I'm too bad. It's what other people think of me you need to worry about," I respond. 

He lunges forward, trying to grab my arm and put me in a lock. I dodge him and attempt to punch him in the ribs. He easily deflefts it. We circle each other again, waiting for the next person to make a move. I could try and get him on the ground, then I'll just put him in a sleeper lock. It would just take a few seconds to knock him out. 

I pull my right arm back to make it look like I'm going to throw a punch but at the last moment, swing my left foot up, hitting him in the chest. It stuns him long enough for me to trip him. He tries to get up but I jump onto his back dragging him back down to the mat. He is on his back and I have my legs wrapped around his torso beneath him. I try to get my arm around his neck but he keeps breaking my hold. 

He rolls onto his side, trying to throw me off but I hold on. He slowly stands up and he gets better grip of me on his back. I lock my legs around him so its near impossible to throw me. 

With his thumb, he presses a point on the side of my knee causing my legs to relax just long enough to break the lock. 

He pulls me from off his back, holding me bridal style and says, "Admit defeat and I won't drop you, sugar." 

"In your dreams, cowboy." 

He shrugs and puts me down gently but I'm not finished with him. I step foward to strike him but he simple pushes me backwards. You would think he would have known my weight after all that time I spent of his back but he shoved me with enough force to knock over a 250 lb man. My bottom hits the ground first and I feel a sharp pain shoot up my spine. I let out a small cry and Whiskey looks guilty for a moment. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you that hard," he tries to apologize. He offers to help me up but I decline. 

I turn my back to him and walk away. Im done with training for today. 

.

.

.

My ass is sore for the rest of the rest of the day. I must have bruised my tailbone. Fucking hell, Whiskey. I figure out his case and he thanks me by bruising my tailbone. And now with my injury, I'm not going to be able to fight correctly for the next couple weeks. Let alone sit comfortably. 

I have to lay on my stomach because I wont be able to sleep if I lay on my back but I still rolled over in my sleep and wake with a sore butt. 

I see Whiskey again today. Along with martial arts he is also an expert marksmen. Today's leason is shooting. I can count the amount of times I shot a gun on one hand. I'm not too bad but I dont enjoy them much. I notice Whiskey's gun of choice is a revolver but I find I like rifles the most. I find that I'm much better at long range then close range so I'm outide with Rum instead of training with Whiskey. 

There is a target across the field about 200 meters away. 

"If you're lookin to be a sniper, you can start here. Usually you will be shooting targets 300 to 500 meters away. You dont have an unlimited window so you have to learn exactly when and where to shoot. Its a matter of a split second and the length of a hair between shooting your target and missing," Run explains to me. 

I'm laying on the ground with the rifle in position. I take my aim and shoot the target. I'm a couple inches from the center. 

"Not a bad start. Keep shooting until you can hit the center. Get used to the kickback," he instructs me. 

It takes three more shots to hit the center

"Again. Make sure that wasn't a mistake." 

I shoot 5 more times, hitting the center every time. 

"Good work. Now lets see how you do with a moving target. It will take a while to get the timing right but you'll get the rhythm of it." 

For this exercise, there is a cannon that shoots up an empty glass bottle. I completely miss the bottle the first 12 times but on the 13th I hit the edge of it. Its two more tries until I can get another hit. After 34 bottles shot in the air, I am hitting every last one. 

"Very impressive. I was expecting it to take you all day to get it but you got it in 3 hours. Lets go and check on the others." 

I arrive to see Whiskey is still there, currently correcting one of the trainee's from some Ivy League school stance. I pick a handgun and take my stance. I am about to shoot when something claps my ass. Right on my bruised tailbone. 

I drop to my knees in pain and let out a pathetic whine. I hear laughter behind me. My brother's. He is holding a towel, what I assume he used to whip me. He looked like he just finished a workout.

"Real fucking mature, Michael," I say. 

"Aw c'mon, I didnt hit you that hard." 

"No but Whiskey there bruised my fucking tailbone yesterday." 

"He did what?" My brother shouts. I should have just said I fell. Mike is crazy protective, although he knows I don't need it, but he still protects me in any way he can. 

"Its fine. It was a part of training." 

"No it's not. They're not supposed to injure you during training. I'll be right back." He walks off toward Whiskey. 

I can see them talking. My brothers face is serious while Whiskey looks like someone told him the funniest joke he's ever heard. Then his face turns cold. I can see him mouth the words 'what are gonna do about it?' 

This pushes my brother over the edge. "I dont think you heard me, Jack. If you ever hurt my sister again, I will shove my boot so far up your ass you'll be tasting leather for the next month. You may be the highest ranking here but that don't mean shit if you hurt her again," he shouts. I've only seen him this mad twice. 

Whiskey seems to understand that my brother's wrath when it comes to me is not something he would like to experience firsthand. He simply nods and says something I can't hear then they shake hands. Mike walks back over to me. 

"Problem solved," he smiles.

At least I dont have to worry about Whiskey anymore. Thats a relief. He is not the most infuriating male I've ever met but I don't think I cound stand working with him. 

.

.

.

The next week of training passes and its just me and one other trainee left.

"You may be thinking that this is it. That you're just one step away from becoming the next Agent Brandy. Well I've got bad news for you. After this last assessment, one of you will be going on a mission with Ginger Ale and Whiskey. Ginger has been fighting for a position as field agent for a long time but has been unsuccessful. Agent Whiskey will report to Champ about your mission and then Champ decides who gets to be an agent. If neither of you are the next Agent Brandy, dont worry, we have your numbers if we ever have the need for you," Rum announces. 

Our assessment is a combination of everything we've learned over the past weeks. First we are given random coordinates and told to remember them. Then its hand to hand combat(I fight through the pain), reciting a script with an assigned foreign accent, shooting a target, and at the end we have to give Rum the coordinates told to us at the beginning of the assessment. I have no idea how my competitor did. I wasn't even watching them. 

I'm sitting in a white, undecorated room with a one way mirror. I lost track of time as I sit here with no ome to talk to and nothing to look at but my own blurred reflection. The door opens and Whiskey walks in. 

"Get ready, we have a mission," he says, not even making eye contact. 

"Fun. Make sure you keep your promise to my brother," I tell him. 

"Wouldn't dream of hurting you, sugar." 

I roll my eyes at the petname. He probably doesnt even realize he called me that. Its what he does with every women. Gross.   
He holds the door open for me and I go to pack for our mission.


	3. First Mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for human trafficking. I hope this chapter is okay. I am working on a lot of things right now so im doing my best to get this out to yall. Much love.

As we are on the jet to our location, Whiskey goes over the mission with Ginger and I. 

"Now I'm gonna be in both your ears. Both of you have a target to place the tracker on. This isnt very high stakes since neither of you have experience in the feild, but if you say anything wrong they will become suspicious, making it harder for you to get the tracker in. Here is the information we have on them so far," Whiskey hands us a stack of papers. 

"Read through that until we arrive," he hands Ginger and I a file. 

The person I am assigned to put a tracker on is the girlfriend of US ambassador Micaiah Blomgren. Apparently, Macaiah is suspected in being involved in a sex trafficking ring and his girlfriend, Camille Rines, is somehow involved as well. Statesmen hacked his phone for a short amount of time but all their messages were in a code they have yet to crack. Statemen also intercepted Camille's invite to a "fundraiser" dinner. Tracking her may lead to more information to take them down and save all those victims. 

Also in the files, is our aliases. Ginger and I are a couple, with a taste for exquisite and 'alternative'  
food. Tonight we are attending a privite dinner, invite only, that is serving what they promised to be "the most inimitable experience of your life." Tonight's fundraiser is apparently for endangered species but the money isnt to save endangered species. It's to eat them. They auction the invites on the dark web and the money raised pays the thieves and chefs. 

"Don't you two worry about the food. We already rescued the endanged octopus. We've had our own men go in there and switch the fish," Whiskey informs us. 

I just nod and continue reading through the files. Memorizing everything about my identity for the night. I imagine what kind of accent would "Mrs. Eloise Roshe-Hall" have. I think she might have a very soft, subtle irish accent. She moved here when she was a teenager and tries to hide her accent as best she can, but its still shows everytime time she pronounces her vowels a tad too long and her t's and d's too broad. 

When we touch down we are swept away and prepared for the evening. I am dressed in a midnight blue dress. It has a plunging neckline and the skirt is sheer but its decorated with flowers so my lower half is not completely exposed. Everyone else will only be able to see mid thigh down through the skirt. We don't expect things to be physical but in case it does they hide a few throwing knives on me. 

I am checking myself out in the mirror when Ginger walks in. "Hello, Mrs. Eloise Roshe-Hall. You look quite lovely this evening," she says sweetly, hugging me from behind. Probably practicing for tonight. 

"And you look... ravashing Mrs. Chloe Hall," I say, trying out Eloise's accent. Ginger is in a golden fitted gown. Its compliments her skin tone perfectly. Its probably also hiding an assortment of weapons. 

"This is for you," she hands me a pair of Statesman lenses. 

"Thank you." 

"I'm sure you know how it works," . 

"We went over how to use the glasses in training so I should be able to figure it out." I nod. I'm a little nervous but I try not to let it show. 

"These are just a little different that what they taught you, but you shouldn't have an issue," she assures me. 

Its a short drive out to where the dinner is being hosted. The hotel is owned by a close friend of Macaiah's who is also assumed to be involved in the trafficking ring. As soon as we get more info tonight Statesman will take them all down. 

Ginger and I enter the building, arm in arm. Someone walks up to us, asking for our invitations. We show our invitations to them then are escorted to the banquet hall the dinner is being hosted in. It looks like only half the guests have arrived so far. 

I immediately spot Camille, chatting with a group of men in the far right corner. The men notice Ginger and I walking in and I can feel their sinister stares following us as we are led to our seats. 

Ginger turns to me and whispers into my ear, "Pretend like I'm saying something sweet and romantic. I'm gonna go check out the couple over to the left. You just follow Whiskey's instructions." 

I giggle as she pulls away. She rubs my shoulders before walking over to the couple across the room. I tap the side of the frames to turn them on and wait on Whiskey's instructions. 

Nothing. Why can't I see anything? There's suppised to be a voice in my ear and information on the frames where only I can see. Did I turn it on wrong? No. Impossible. I remember everything from training and this is how we were taught to use them. 

"Hi, I've never seen you before. Do you mind if I sit down here for a chat?" I turn to see Camille standing next to Ginger's seat. 

"I don't mind at all. I could really use someone to talk to right now." I easily slip into Eloise's personality and put on a charming smile for Camille. 

"I saw you come in with your wife. She is dazzling. And you look quite exquisite as well," she walks the line of small talk and flirting. Things she assumes will make me like her but it just makes me uncomfortable. She has a vibe that I just can't describe. Just a look in her eyes that scares me. But these damn frames arent working so I'm all alone with her. 

"Thank you. We are constantly traveling and heard about this recently and decided we needed to give it a try." 

"You definitely will not regret it," she looks at me like I am prey. I feel like she is trying to seduce me but I'm not sure. I decide to subtly flirt with her and see. 

"Do you have a boyfriend? A gorgeous lil babe like you can't be single. Or a girlfriend. Women are just so,' its my turn to check her out "divine." 

"I do have a boyfriend. Although having a girlfriend would be nice." She leans in closer, turning her chest towards me, so I can get a clear view down her dress. 

I look down and pretend to indulge in her exposed cleavage. I act as if I'm struggling to break eye contact with her chest. 

"I can get you a drink if you want. Dinner won't be served for another half hour. Would your wife notice if you left for a few minutes?" Her voice drips with seduction. 

"I'll tell her I need a smoke." 

"Smoking is bad for you." she traces a hand on my thigh. 

"I didnt mean cigarettes." 

"Oh? What do you have on you? Anything good?" 

"Lets get out of here and find out." 

She winks at me and I spot Ginger across the room to tell her I'll be leaving temporarily. I walk up to her and wrap an arm around her waist. 

"I'll be out of the room for a bit with Camille. If I'm not back in 20 minutes, get help," I whisper in her ear. 

She smiles as if I told her something sweet and pats my arm. Now that she knows, back to Camille. Just as I spot her she slips out of the room through a white door. I make my way discreetly out the room and follow her down a the hall. I memorize every turn we make. 

She takes me into a room that has another door at the other end. Behind the door is a staircase going down. We descend into what feels like a private room straight from a club. How nice. I guess this hotel has this room for private parties down here. I wonder how much it costs to rent because it looks so expensive. 

I analyze the room but to Camille its looks like I am admiring it. "It's really nice isnt it? Soundproof too. So you can scream my name as loud as you need to," her voice oozes lust as she walks toward me, takes my face in her hands and kisses me roughly. 

She pushes me until my back hits the wall, her hips pinning me in place. 

"How did you even know about this room? Its so," I fake a moan as she kisses down my neck "perfect." 

"I know the owner of the hotel. He had this built for me. For when I want someone new to fuck." 

"Lucky me." I push the slit in her dress that exposes her leg to the side and trace my hand up her thigh. She sighs at the contact. Thankfully this tracker doesn't have to be placed in a mucus membrane. It was designed to go onto the skin and bury itself under the dermis and in 3 days time, it will create a pimple in the client to be popped. I ready the tracker with my other hand. 

Then I spot hooks on the ceiling. It all clicks into place. They chain people up in here. Camille charms her victims and leads them here. How she keeps them and trafficks them, I dont know. All I know is I could be next. She might drug me soon. And my glasses arent working so there is no way for Statesman to track me. 

I slide my hands over her body, finding the pressure point I'll need to make her unconscious long enough to slip away. I press my thumb into the exact point I need for ten seconds while also placing the tracker. Her body drops to the floor. I rush out of the room and back to the banquet hall. I search for Ginger and when I find her I ask the rest of the gentlemen nicely if I can pull her away for a moment. 

As soon as we step out and the coast is clear I tell her what I just found out. 

"Its Camille. She's behind it. She lures people down there and traps them somehow. She brought me down into a room with hooks on the ceiling to chain people up. We got to leave. Now." 

She just nods and we exit the hotel and have the valet bring our car. As soon as we are in, I feel a weight lift off my chest. 

A call comes in through the car. Ginger presses the screen and Whiskey's face appears. "I want the both of you at the safe house in no less than 15 minutes." He's furious. 

"What do you think that's about?" I ask. 

"Probably because it looks like we abandoned our mission." 

The rest of the drive is silent. We arrive at the safehouse and I am scared all over again.


End file.
